


The Old and The New (are still one and the same)

by chararii



Series: Old works from my (dead) FF.net account [4]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Crushes, Cynical, F/F, Gen, Jessamine Kaldwin Lives, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chararii/pseuds/chararii
Summary: “I hand my vote to the Lady Boyle.” In a room where every single attendée tried to gain the upper hand over the others and acquire power in their own right, she felt safe to say that she was the only one who simply didn't care about the outcome or consequences of her decision.“Which one?”“Does it matter?” she asked and hid a small smile behind her hand, eternally basking in the knowledge of speaking so many languages neither of which the men at this table would ever be able to understand.After the plague, Dunwall is different yet not, and Holly Crowley has little trouble adjusting to the new yet old reality she has found herself in.
Relationships: Waverly Boyle & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Old works from my (dead) FF.net account [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785646
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Old and The New (are still one and the same)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago both because I wanted to write something with/about politics and because I have this thing for the Boyles. It's more of a character/political study than anything else with little to no context but it's definitely one of my most favourite works.

“- ration the whale oil, deal with the increasing numbers of destitute members of our society, people who were born in this city-”

Whale oil this, poverty that and oh, a good dose of barely disguised racism. Not that the latter wasn't terribly fashionable as of late but still in somewhat poor taste considering there were at least two of them in the room, two who hailed from places that were hardly worth anyone's mention. Meaning places that weren't Gristol. Logic could be so simple sometimes.

“- and why is the draining of the flooded district of such high importance? We've done well without the financial quarters before and the old arts district serves as well as any other replacement-” Yes because that whole business had gone down the drain with the last remnants of the cursed rat plague and what use did the sole remaining artist in this city worth the time and money had for an entire district? To be fair, someone of Sokolov's genius could probably turn the entire place into something equal parts terrifying and astounding, a lovely and possibly homicidal grand show of the brilliantly macabre. Maybe they _should_ give him the arts district.

“- of the sanctions for the families involved in the kidnapping of the princess and near death-” Like completely eradicating the Pendletwats and breaking apart the Boyle clan hadn't been enough. There was hardly a name associated with that whole disaster that was still attached to a breathing being and those that were had certainly suffered nonetheless. Miraculously Waverly Boyle had found her way back to Dunwall within just a few months of her sudden disappearance – abduction, she called it – and with a wrath to her already cutting edge that had grown men shudder in fear. Although it seemed that she had learned at least one thing and started to renounce the late Hiram Burrows as soon as she got the chance and sent her glittering gold towards proper royal coffers now. The Boyles, out of everyone in this city, had probably recovered the fastest and were back better than ever. It was just one thing of a long list of things to admire them for.

“- propose we deal with the question of repopulation? Outsider knows beggars breed like rabbits but we lost good men and women-” Hopefully someone suggested a second royal heir again. That had been a laugh. Well, for anyone who wasn't Lord White who had spent the moments following his proposal being stared down by their Empress until he averted his eyes and mumbled a feeble 'perhaps not'.

“- winter rapidly approaching, we need food and other supplies that we simply don't have-”

Outsider's mercy, court sessions were the _worst_. And it wasn't like staring out of the window was an option either considering that the council chamber suffered from a disturbing lack of windows. Perhaps these got better with a political agenda to enforce, with something – anything – to do that didn't involve sneaking glances at the youngest Boyle who in turn was too busy treading the line between currying favour with the Empress and retaining her precious dignity. Or casually observing the eldest Boyle who looked mildly interested despite everyone knowing how much she wanted to be somewhere else, preferably with a drink in one hand and a willing lover in the other. Or simply looking at the middle sister who paled in comparison to the other two but was still a Boyle so she had her secrets and agendas and was simply better at hiding them than the others. No, where most people would spend their time staring out of windows, she would stare at Boyles.

Did they come in any other shade than wheaty blonde? Could their eyes assume any other colour than this exquisite cerulean blue? Had there ever been a daughter of the house of Boyle that did not have their fine bone structure, sharp edges, high cheekbones and finely arched eyebrows? Was _any_ of them not to die for? Perhaps the only point in looking at them was because they were just there; directly in her line of sight, just opposite of her across the table. Survivors of the horrors of the plague or the masked felon or even Lord Brisby whose corpse had washed up on the shore just a short while ago, body marked by only a single, eerily precise stab through the throat. In a way, their voices were the only ones that truly deserved to be heard for they had stayed in the city and not fled like everyone else. Fled as she had.

She had considered not showing up at all because honestly, what was the point. She had nothing to say, nothing to do, had tasted the familiar mixture of saltwater, smoke and oil that marked Dunwall just a few weeks ago as she had left the ship and set foot back into the city. But they had sent her a notice like they had everyone else, letters to all the names that made up the old council except for those who had been eradicated. And she understood. The danger has passed and now they needed structure to rebuild so perhaps all these names on the list were nothing but tradition until a better solution was found. Perhaps all of them were watched like hawks, assessed and judged worthy or wanting. She wondered which category she fell into. Uninterested and ultimately useless but a voice capable of swinging either way and personal motivations which didn't exceed trying to bed all three Boyle women and not necessarily separately.

“ - final vote: Holly Crowley.” The mention of her name derailed her train of thought somewhat but if she had learned one thing growing up it was how to always look like she was paying attention. Not that she had. Following that logic she offered a polite but short 'abstain' and blithely ignored the various reactions she drew from her noble brethren. Apparently one single year had been enough to make them forget about her habit of rarely administering her personal vote.

“Just pick a side, Crowley. Unless you want to spend all day at the palace until someone changes their mind and ends the stalemate?” Why was it always White who had to be problematic? His wife was agreeable enough but of apparent bad taste if her choice in husband was anything to go by. There were many things she could say and she carefully considered each and every one of them but a year of absence had slowed her down and so someone else beat her to it.

“Why, are you offering? Do go ahead.” If Bennett had been restless the entire session she didn't know but he certainly sounded like it. He seemed antsy; most of them did really, with the exception of the eternally graceful Boyle women and the stately but so far rather passive woman in black who lorded over them with not-at-all subtle disassociation.

“I just want her to make a decision for once in her goddamn life!” He spoke about her, not to her and looked at Bennett and not _her_. So she was more than happy to let him discuss the matter with the person he wanted to discuss it with. She tuned them out and let them bicker and suddenly it felt like the plague had never come to the city, like the faces around her had never changed and that one year had never passed. She wondered if anyone else felt that way and let her eyes casually wander over her noble brethren's faces until she was met by a pair that stared right back.

Ah, perhaps not. She blinked once as if Waverly Boyle's attention was an everyday occurrence and then moved on to Lydia who was still sitting like a statue and Esma whose gaze had gotten stuck on the newly appointed Royal Spymaster. That one had not been a surprise to anyone no matter how much outrage the decision had caused. Nowadays people were slightly more careful about insulting Serkonians since clearly someone was playing favourites.

“In the interest of calling this session to an end, We urge Lady Crowley to cast the deciding vote.” That was the second time the Empress had spoken up ever since the session had officially started and served to instantly shut up both White and Bennett. Not that those blue eyes cared. No, they rested on her and her alone.

“I hand my vote to the Lady Boyle.” In a room where every single attendée tried to gain the upper hand over the others and acquire power in their own right, she felt safe to say that she was the only one who simply didn't care about the outcome or consequences of her decision. She liked to live comfortably but was no threat so why would anyone waste time coming after her? And what was the point in trying to get _more_ when she had all she needed and family from overseas who happily sent her money whenever her reserves ran dry? No, she was young, flighty and so disgustingly uninterested in politics that her very presence at this table was a mockery of the system. No paragon of the rich, no defender of the weak and not even somewhere in the middle but in another place entirely.

“Which one?” But for all that, she was not stupid. She didn't care for their games but she understood them, had no interest in machinations but saw them and listened despite not speaking up. She didn't hand them her vote on a silver platter in hopes of being rewarded for it but for the simple reason that the sisters _knew better_.

“Does it matter?” she asked and hid a small smile behind her hand, eternally basking in the knowledge of speaking so many languages neither of which the men at this table would ever be able to understand.

“What do you want.” Perhaps once upon a time, Wavery Boyle would have been more polite and infinitely more subtle but this was not one of these times. She had wasted not a second, hadn't let her get away, and only allowed her to take so many steps after leaving the chamber to ensure they were out of earshot. A year ago she would have taken days or even weeks before inviting her to a small soirée during which she would serve her sweet wine and fresh fruit to coax her into giving away her very soul. But here she stood, arms crossed in front of her chest and brows furrowed and all of the coldness she was known for on display, no longer hidden behind smiles and gentle touches. Perhaps it was Brisby, perhaps it was something else or perhaps she simply didn't think she was worth being played with.

“Why?” A simple question but the woman in front of her radiated an unwillingness to play games and partake in social dances which painted a harsh contrast to the person she remembered. She didn't make a habit of feeling guilty about her decisions but somehow it seemed unfair that she had enjoyed all the comforts of the wintery wonderland to the North while this woman had remained in a city that was going down, suffered Outsider knew what her captor had put her through and clawed her way back to the top. Not that staying had ever been an option. Not for her. She was well aware that she wouldn't have been able to swim well enough to stay above water.

“Do you even know what you agreed to?” It spoke volumes of her beauty that even a sneer of such pure disdain did nothing to diminish it. She wondered what it said about her that the remark didn't even bother her?

“I didn't really agree with anything. It was your vote, not mine,” she answered as if it the most obvious thing in the world. If she were anyone else, perhaps she should worry about the implications of surrendering her power to a still somewhat disgraced family but considering all the older and wiser members of the parliament thought she cast her votes like she picked her breakfast it most likely would result in no fallout at all.

“I'm in no mood to play charades. What do you want Crowley.” Well; spend enough time being hunted by others and eventually you're just flat out paranoid. Perhaps a gentler touch was needed. Because for all her irreverence and general apathy, she believed in fairness. Waverly played no games with her and was probably the most honest and genuine she's ever been in her life so it was only right that she would extend the same courtesy.

“We all decided to ignore the plague until it was too late. We made bad decisions and then didn't stick around to live with the consequences. People like us should have no say in how the city is run but because that won't change, the least I can do is hand my power to someone who will truly think about what they're doing.” There was silence for a few moments and for a while she thought she had said too much but then Waverly glanced at her in a manner that seemed almost appraising like she was looking at a stone to try and figure out if it was real or a fake.

“Perhaps you're not a complete loss after all.” She couldn't sound drier if she tried and the sarcasm was so strong she could almost feel it in the air between them, but nevertheless Holly smiled.

“Why, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.” And in a way, that was completely true. Growing up Holly had known luxury but never to the extent that the woman in front of her had. Never the luxury of autonomy, of education beyond what's proper for a girl or even absent parental figures and absolute freedom. All she had ever been praised for was the fiery colour of her hair, the depth of her emerald eyes, the flawlessness of porcelain skin.

Waverly looked at her, past the ethereal exterior that was all Holly had ever been known for and if the spark in her lovely cerulean eyes was anything to go by, found something she liked. The Boyle rejoined her sisters moments later and left her behind where she remained, eyes following the blonde even after she was long gone.

Perhaps there was hope for a future in which her one and only desire had a chance of being fulfilled after all.


End file.
